My deodorant broke apart just after my left arm and before being applied to my right that morning. It had crumbled into pieces, filling the floor with little sticky chunks that I had to pick up and rub individually on my armpit in order to have balanced coverage. The whole process took ten minutes. Afterwards I decided that my hands may never sweat again. That was the only upside.
In and of itself it was a minor annoyance. In the aggregation of events of that particular morning it was to be the second to last nudge.
I had awakened early – with ambitious intent. I drank coffee and structured my work area for maximum productivity. Within thirty minutes I had two devices connected to the hotel’s internet, two spreadsheets open to review and three presentations open in prep for scoring them.
I had an 11:30 am meeting that day, and all of the above needed to be completed before then. After several unexpected phone calls, multiple emails and a few work related texts I moved my lunch to 12:15 and set about the important work of the day
I was quite productive for nearly twenty minutes when my room phone rang. I could ill afford another interruption but answered anyway.
It was the manager of the (extremely large) hotel I was staying at. She apologetically explained that a VIP visitor had requested to stay in the room I checked into. The VIP had expressly requested MY room. She asked for my help, offering upgrades and reductions if I would agree to be relocated. I agreed (on principle, not because of the upgrades) , and after doing so was informed that the move needed to happen immediately.
I asked her to send a bellman to my room to assist me in fifteen minutes. Three frantic looking bellmen arrived in under five. Great. Six eyeballs stared at me while I packed.
I grabbed handfuls of stuff and threw them into my suitcase. I finished, then gave the nod to go onward and was in my next room in another five minutes. I was distracted and (slightly) annoyed when they departed and I was again alone – this time in my new room. I booted up all of my electronics, placed the papers I needed back in some semblance of order, then decided on a quick workout to clear my head. I quickly showered afterwards with the intent of returning to my projects.
Then the afore mentioned deodorant thing happened. After I finished applying the crumbles to my right armpit I went to my suitcase for clothes. I found everything but underwear and socks. They were gone.
When I realized they were in a drawer in the room that I had just vacated,I lost it. I went from happily clean to moronically mad in 11 minutes flat. I marched around the room yelling into the air to no one for at least five minutes. I don’t remember everything that I said, but I do know that most of the words began with an f, s or b.
When my tantrum concluded I called the hotel with a request to return to my room for my missing things. They responded by sending a security guard to my room to escort me. Once back in the old room I grabbed the ten pairs of boxer shorts (mostly printed with cartoon characters from Scooby-Doo, South Park and various X-Box games) and the five pairs of socks that I had left. Then I made my way back to the room I just moved to.
I glared at people who, once they finished evaluating my cartoon boxers, had the temerity to make eye contact with me. I was more composed when my 401k portfolio lost 25% of its value due to the market crashing a few years ago than I was over this whole deodorant, boxer shorts incident.
I did not finish my work before my luncheon appointment. I had a great big pile of cholesterol for lunch, washed it down with some empty calories, and cut the meeting short so that I could return to my work.
While I was gone the hotel transformed itself. The side streets next to the hotel were lined with motorcycle cops, the entrances and exits of the hotel were watched over by dozens of characters resembling the Men in Black. They intermittently spoke into their wrists, then cupped their hands over one ear afterwards. I decided that they were awaiting either a politician or an alien.
Turned out to be a little of both. Mitt Romney was staying at my hotel. And he apparently really wanted the room that I was in.